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“They’re cheering, sir; it’s for you.” Alvar stood up, with his hand on Jack’s shoulder, and bowed with a grace and self-possession from which his pale face and hastily extemporised sling did not detract, and which his brothers – agitated, and ashamed of their agitation, were far from rivalling, as Jack desired the driver to “get on quick,” and Cheriton bent down his head, quivering in every nerve under the wonderful influence of that unanimous shout.
Some hours later, as Alvar lay on a sofa at Ashrigg, resting in preparation for the public dinner at Hazelby, for which every one had declared he must be well enough, the doctor included, he looked at Cherry, who sat near him, and said, with a smile, – “Cherito mio, I think they would all have grieved for me – the twins and all – if I had been killed. They would have been sorry for me – now.”
“Don’t – don’t talk of it. Of course they would,” said Cherry, with a shudder.
“Ah! I fear you will dream of it, as you used of the mountain at Ronda. It will hurt you more than it has hurt me.”
“No,” said Cherry; “but if we had lost you! We can hardly believe yet that we have you safe.”
“But,” said Alvar, with unusual persistency, “then you would have been the squire, after all. Ah! I am cruel to hurt you; but, Cheriton, once they would not have grieved.”
Cheriton could not command an answer, and Alvar quitted the subject; but the unmistakable affection showed to him at last by his brothers and sister healed the old wounds as nothing else would have done.
No one would own that the fright and agitation demanded a quiet evening, and the ladies all repaired to Hazelby, to sit in the gallery at the Town-hall to hear the speeches, Mrs Lester, who had happily not been present in the morning, accompanying them; and Jack, going to fetch Virginia, and after overwhelming her with the story of the alarm, assuring her that she must come and hear Alvar’s health drunk. Sir John Hubbard intended it should be done.
And so, when the usual toasts were over, old Sir John rose, and, full of compunction for past prejudices, and of gratitude for what Alvar had done for him, said that this was really the first public occasion they had had of welcoming Mr Lester among them; spoke of his father’s merits, of the difficulty a stranger might have in accommodating himself to their north-country fashions; touched lightly and gracefully on the reason of Alvar’s recent absence, and their pleasure in welcoming back again “one long known and loved,” and how much was owing to the elder brother’s care; hinted how Alvar had won “one of the best of their county prizes;” and then, out of the fulness of his heart, thanked him for his heroic behaviour in saving the life of Lady Hubbard, and himself from an irreparable loss, and, moreover, a frightful sense of responsibility.
Then Alvar’s health was drunk with all the honours, and it was long before the enthusiasm subsided sufficiently to allow him to reply.
He stood up, in his unusual height and dignity, and said, slowly and simply, “I thank you much, gentlemen. Sir John Hubbard need not thank me for rescuing my sister, and the betrothed of my brother. I was at hand, and of the danger I did not think.” (“No, no; of course not,” cried a voice.) “I have been a stranger, but I have no other country but England now, and it is my wish to be your friend and your neighbour, as my father was. I will endeavour to fill his place to my tenants; but I am ignorant, and have little skill. I think it is not perhaps permitted to me to name the one who will most help me in future, one of whom I am all unworthy. But there is another, who has always given me love, whom I love most dearly, as I think you do also. My brother Cheriton has taught me how to be an English squire.”
And among all those who cheered Alvar’s speech, the voice that was raised the loudest was Edward Fleming’s.
The next morning Cheriton went alone along the path from Oakby to Elderthwaite. His great wish was granted; his father’s place would be worthily filled. Alvar would never be a nobody in the county again, would never seem again out of place as their head. All old sores were healing, all were turning out well – how much better than he could ever have hoped!
Even for hopeless Elderthwaite things looked hopeful; and Cheriton’s quick and kindly thoughts turned to his share in the work of mending them. “If I may,” he thought, “but if not, I think I shall never fear for any one or any place again.”
Too much, perhaps, for the impetuous spirit to promise for itself; but come what might, those who loved Cheriton Lester had little cause to fear for the real welfare of one who loved them so well and looked upward so steadily.
Epilogue
“Mr Ellesmere! I saw your name in the visitors’ book. So you are taking a holiday in Switzerland?”
“Mr Stanforth! Very glad to meet you. You will put us up to all we ought to see and admire. Are you alone?”
“Yes; you know I have lost my travelling companion. My next girl is still in the schoolroom, and I think will never be so adventurous as Gipsy.”
“You have good accounts, I hope, of Mrs Jack, as we irreverently call her.”
“Excellent; she adores the boys, and the boys adore her; her letters are very educational and aesthetic. She has picked up more ‘art’ as a schoolmaster’s wife than ever she learnt as an artist’s daughter, and could, doubtless, set me right on tones and colours.”
“Cherry told me that Jack had taken to the new culture.”
“Yes, he was much amused at the development produced by house-furnishing. But double firsts have a right to vagaries. But tell me something of the Oakby world. It is a very long time since I have been there, and one does not see much of people at a wedding, though I thought Cheriton looking very well.”
“Yes, he is fairly well, very useful, and, I think, quite content. Alvar has settled into his position, and fills it well. He is indignant if he is supposed to be ignorant of anything English; and his sweet graceful wife guides him as much as ‘Fanny’ did his father thirty years ago. His one trouble is that little Gerald is as dark as all his Spanish ancestors, and even Frances is like the Seytons, but that he can forgive.”
“Does she promise to rival her aunt? What a beautiful creature Miss Lester is!”
“Splendid! and still Miss Lester, which is rather a trouble to her grandmother. Whether she will ever be Lady Milford – or whether – Any way, Nettie can keep her own counsel.”
“And now, tell me about Elderthwaite. Has Cheriton justified his experiment?”
“Yes, I think I may say that he has. He has done a great deal. No one else could have done so much good, and certainly no one would have done so little harm.”
“And the old parson is resigned to improvements?”
“Yes, but there have been fewer external changes than you would expect, or than Cherry would wish if he were his own master, or even if he could depend on himself. But of course his health has weighted him heavily, and he cannot promise perfect regularity in services or arrangements.”
“I wonder he can manage at all.”
“Well, I think on the whole his health has improved, and he is well enough off to contrive things – has a horse and waggonette for bad weather; and his house is near the church, and he has built on a great room to it, and fitted it up with books and games, and he makes a sort of club of it for the boys and young men. His sitting-room opens into it, and he has classes and talks, and gets them to come and see him one by one. If he cannot do one thing he does another. And they have evening services in the summer, and early ones when it is possible. I think the sort of resolute way in which Cheriton has recognised the need of special care of himself, if he is to be useful, and carries it out, is one of the most remarkable things about him. Many young men might have killed themselves with hard work, and many would forget the danger when well and in good spirits, but he has recognised the limitations set to him, and bows to them.”
“Yes, and he does not offend his vicar.”
“Rarely, he has never failed to recognise his right to respect – never allowed the Wilsons, who are ardent and enthusiastic, to force anything on him. And there’s a great change. I don’t mean that the old fellow is cut after any modern pattern yet; but he is considerably more decorous, and sometimes there’s a sort of humility about him in admitting his shortcomings that is very touching. Cherry is the very light of his eyes.”
“And how does Cherry hit it off with the modern element?”
“Well, there I think his position has been a great advantage to him; they are a little afraid of him. But he gets on admirably with them, and you know they have improved the church immensely this last year, and what is more to the point, perhaps, it is filled with good congregations.”
“Is Cheriton a fine preacher?”
“Well, his people like him. I have rarely heard him; he is very difficult to get. Yes, I like his sermons; but he has not much voice, you see, and his manner is very quiet. He has not the sort of vehement eloquence you might have expected. I made some comment once to him, and he looked at me, and said, ‘I daren’t get eager and tire myself.’ I saw then how little strength he had to work with.”
“Poor fellow! But this life – does it satisfy him? Is he happy in it?”
“He is just as merry and full of fun as ever. He has a wonderful capacity for taking an interest in every one and everything; and though Alvar does not depend on him in the old exclusive way, he is most tender and careful of him, and Cherry delights in the children. I think Jack’s marriage was rather a wrench; those two do cling together so closely, and Jack was a great deal with him; but still there are grand plans for the holidays, and he is very fond of your daughter.”
“I don’t think that marriage will loosen the tie.”
“No; and he is much too unselfish really to regret it. Then all his village boys bring him pets; he says everything makes a link from a horse to a hedgehog. And my curates and the Ashrigg ones run after him, and think it a privilege to take a service for him; and he has done one rather feather-pated fellow, I know, a world of good.”
“That I can believe.”
“Yes; for, after all, Mr Stanforth, it is not his being a Lester of Oakby, nor a man of means, nor his wonderful tact, nor even his great charm of manner in itself that counterbalances his weak health and frequent absences, or makes a life spent among rather uncongenial elements sufficient to him. It is that he has the root of the matter in him as very few have. What he does and says may be less in quantity, but it is infinitely above in quality the ordinary work of his profession. He looks deep and he looks high, and men feel it. He has come through much tribulation, and – well, Mr Stanforth, the dragon slayers have their reward.”
“Yes, one must touch a high note in thinking of him.”
“So high, that one fears ‘to mar by earthly praise,’ one who I verily believe is as true a saint, as full of love and zeal. – Well, being so, as I truly think, he has what some holy souls have lacked, the gift of a gracious manner and a most sympathetic nature; and if a few more years and a little more experience could be granted to him, I believe he will have a great spiritual influence, if not wide, deep. Any way he will leave in one place the memory of a pure and holy life, and will lead others to follow the Master he loves so well.”
The End